“I know how you must feel, Laedron.”
“Do you? Can you?”
Victor smiled. “I haven’t always been locked away behind a desk.”
“I’m sorry if you’ve felt any disrespect from my words, but I yearn to see my family, as do my friends, and it’s disheartening to know that, yet again, something stands in the way of that.”
“A few days. Morcaine isn’t far, and I’ll do everything in my power to hasten the trip for you. Would that help?”
“Like I said, it would seem I have little choice. We cannot disobey the king.”
Victor patted Laedron on the shoulder. “Stay with us tonight, and we’ll leave early tomorrow morning.”
“No.” Laedron waved his hand. “We have already arranged lodgings in the city.”
Receiving an awkward stare from Valyrie, Laedron shook his head at her just enough to get the message across.
Victor said, “Very well, but the invitation remains open should you change your mind. Return here at dawn, and we’ll depart.”
Laedron nodded, opened the door, and exited with Valyrie. “We’ll need to find Marac and Brice. This way.”
“Lodgings, Lae? We’ve made no such arrangements.”
“I know a place. Marac and Brice can stay here, but I want to visit my teacher’s former home and show it you, if you’d like.”
“Certainly, Lae. I’d like that very much, actually.”
Laedron nodded, then led her back to the grand entry hall and off to the west wing. “I’ve rarely visited this side of the keep.”
“Didn’t like it over here?”
“I wasn’t allowed very often. They preferred to keep the sorcerers separate from the knights during training.”
“Strange. You would think they’d train you together.”
“They trained the knights as a group, but sorcerers would benefit little from instruction in martial combat. Magic is our sword and shield.”
He turned at the last corridor, then noticed Marac and Brice in a side hall, talking to Meklan Draive. Laedron waited until they noticed him, gestured, and they came over to him. “You two stay here for the night, and we’ll join you in the morning.”
Marac, sounding eager, asked, “Did Victor tell you about—”
“He did.” Laedron sighed, lowering his chin and staring at his shoes. “We’ve been instructed to see the king.”
“Well, don’t get too excited about it, Lae,” Brice said, furrowing his brow. “When I heard the news, I thought you would be happy to finally be recognized for a job well-done.”
“I don’t need to be extolled for anything, and I’d rather just go home. If memory serves, we did what we had to do. We survived and helped who we could, nothing more.”
“Yes, yes, but to visit the king? The palace? To be requested, no less? A once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.”
“Opportunity?” Marac raised his eyebrows. “Don’t read too much into it, Thimble.”
“We’ll meet you on the morrow at dawn.” Laedron turned toward the exit.
“What will you do? Where will you go?”
“Ismerelda’s. I want to see her home one last time.”
* * *
He walked through the streets with Valyrie as if his feet knew the way. Reaching the alley that fronted Ismerelda’s home, he stopped and took a deep breath, recalling the time he’d gone to the market and nearly been robbed. What would I do with a thief now? With the flick of my wrist, I could end his life or immobilize him and give him over to the guard. Have I lost my sense of fear or merely gained confidence in my own abilities?
“Are you all right, Lae?”
He peered at the placard—the golden moon and stars—and the wrought iron gate, then looked past them at the squalid yard. Tavingras was right, he thought, taking himself back to the first time he’d seen Ismerelda’s house. Those holes where trees once stood, that grass that seemed like it refused to grow. She had used up the essence of it, an Uxidin sorceress trying to survive.
“Lae?”
He took a deep breath. “My memories came rushing back to me. Here, let’s go inside.” Unlatching the gate, he stepped past it, then approached the front door. He tried the handle, but it was locked.
“Do you have a key?”
He shook his head, then took a look around the porch. That’s odd. He walked over to a pot filled with soil, but he could find no trace of a plant or seeds. Moving it aside, he spotted a brass key that must have been there for quite some time because, from bit to bow, it was solid black from tarnish. Though difficult to turn, the key unlocked the front door.
It didn’t take long for the spiders to find their way in. Cobwebs coated the paintings and furniture, and the webs and dim light made it difficult to make out the mural painted on the parlor ceiling.
“What is that?” Valyrie asked, pointing upward.
“A depiction of the Great War. Azura at Azuroth, the final battle between the Uxidin and the Necromancer, Vrolosh.” He blew on the shelves to clear away the cobwebs and a layer of dust. “Everything’s exactly the way she left it.”
“It’s small, but I can see how it could be a comfortable home.” She followed him to the common room, then through the hall to the kitchen. “It was just the two of you?”
“She only took on one apprentice at a time, which is the usual way when privately tutoring a student.” He gazed at the stove and noticed the pan in which Ismerelda had prepared the quiche. “Would you like to see the room where we trained?”
She nodded, and he led her downstairs to the basement. The ashes of the training dummy he’d shot still littered the floor, along with the one Ismerelda had split in two. He could almost see his teacher seated at the larger of the two desks. He smiled. “I would like to share something with you.”
“Yes?”
“I will show you what has passed here, and though I could make an illusion, I want you to truly experience it. Do not be afraid.”
He pulled out his scepter and focused on his last memory training in that cellar. Then, he conjured his captivation spell. Valyrie spun around when the spell came into being, the manifestation of his memory clearly taking hold of her mind.
A vision of Laedron and Ismerelda emerged from the stairs by a sparkle of light, and she went about lighting the torches and candles situated around the room. The illusory woman drew her scepter—the one Laedron had come to carry—and whispered something. A flame rose from the ruby on the end of the scepter.
Ismerelda said, “We're going to move on to some more advanced incantations today. I wanted to spend more time on the basics, but there's no time for that.”
Hearing her voice, Laedron nearly lost focus on his spell. It’s amazing how precisely I remember how she sounded. He tried his best to ignore the illusions for the remainder of the casting, and when he got to the part where Ismerelda said, “Record what notes you need in your book,” he released the spell.
Valyrie turned when the images faded away. “What sort of magic was that?”
“The one we practiced here or the one I used on you just now?”
“This one, the one you cast on me.”
“’Tis known as Captivation.” He paused, thinking of how Ismerelda had taught him about aspects, then how Tavingras had said that aspects weren’t real, that they were tools to control mages. From this point forward, do I teach according to the original Uxidin methods, or do I maintain the Azuran way? What would be of the most benefit to any I should instruct?
“Captivation? Tell me more about that.”
“Okay.” He walked toward Ismerelda’s desk. “Captivation spells are but one aspect of magic, and they give the sorcerer the ability to impress thoughts and feelings upon someone else.”
“Amazing. Does it work with music?”
He turned around and tilted his head. “Music?”
“If you could combine song and a spell such as that, the audience would hang on every word.”
“Interesting that you
should say that.”
“Really? How so?”
“We’re very much alike, I think, more than either of us may have realized. I, too, enjoy experimenting with new spells and new applications of magic, and I think you have the makings of a great mage.” Ismerelda’s words coming out of me. The student has become the teacher. He smiled. “We’ll have to work on this idea of yours and see where it takes us.”
“You think it’s possible?”
“Did I not write my teleportation spell from scratch?” He thought back to the things that Tavingras had told him of spellcraft. “Anything’s possible if you put your mind to it. It took me a long time to realize that, but it’s just as true now as it ever was—more so now, perhaps.”
“I’m glad that you brought me here and that you started training me. I’ve never been good at anything, really.”
“Nonsense. You’re the best archer I know, and you were doing well at your studies, right?”
“No, Lae.” She sighed and looked away. “I can shoot a bow, but my days at the university were numbered. I changed my focus from seneschal to lyricist because I had gotten a string of bad marks. I thought writing would be easier than managing finances, but I was wrong.”
“Why have you hidden it for so long?”
“Why would you hide something you’re ashamed to tell anyone? I’m sorry if I misled you, but I thought you should know the truth.”
He folded his arms. “You know something?”
“What?” she asked, her stare fixed on the floor.
“If you hadn’t done poorly, you might have stayed in Azura and completed your learning, and if that had been the way of things, you probably wouldn’t be standing here with me now.” He took her hand. “We would never have known how special we would become to one another. To me, that would have been a tragedy greater than failure in some classroom.”
“Do you mean that?”
“I love you, Val, and given the riches of the world, I would refuse them if it meant being apart from you.” He grabbed her up in a tight embrace, then pulled away. “Let’s go back to the keep, for I wouldn’t want to risk staying here with spiders—and who knows what else—crawling the walls and the floors. Besides, I thought coming here might give me a bit of closure, but it hasn’t.”
“No?”
He shook his head. “No one can ever replace Ismerelda, and I’ll always keep her memory in a special place in my heart. Wounds and injuries never completely heal; they seal up and get better, but you always remember what caused them. At times, you’ll feel the sting as if it were new, but you move on and try to do your best. It’s all you can expect of yourself.”
He ascended the stairs, then went into the common room. “One last thing. I’d like to get something to remember her by.”
“I’ll wait here, Lae. Take your time.”
He pushed open the door to Ismerelda’s bedroom. The drawers had been left half open, and clothing was strewn across the bed and chair. He spotted a book on the nightstand and walked over to read the title. Another spellbook written in Nyrethine, perhaps? With the wealth of books she had brought for our journey, I can only imagine what is written in the one she decided to leave behind.
Sweeping away the layer of dust, he opened the unmarked cover. He noted that the text was indeed written in Nyrethine, but different from what he expected. The first page spoke of a family, gave names of people and places, and detailed relatively minor events. He flipped forward and soon realized the nature of the book. A journal. Ismerelda’s personal journal.
He flipped to the last few pages and read:
My new pupil has arrived today, a mortal boy by the name of Laedron Telpist. I can see promise in his eyes, but he doubts his abilities, likely a trait picked up from his mother. If he’s anything like Filadrena Telpist, I shall have my hands full. I detect a certain tension already, one that I can easily avoid with female students, but the boy seems more nervous than any I’ve taught. ‘What do you think training is for?’ I want to ask him, but such a statement could worsen things and inhibit the bond that we must form. This one, I shall have to handle with great care. I think that he has a bounty of potential that he doesn’t realize exists.
He closed the diary, stuck it under his arm, and joined Valyrie in the common room. “Ready?”
“What have you there?”
“A little reading material. My teacher’s journal.”
“She kept a journal? What need would an immortal have for one?”
“The Uxidin are powerful, immortal, and youthful, but with all of those benefits comes a fatal flaw: their memory only keeps details for around half a century or so, unless a particular memory is quite profound.”
“They lose their memories?”
“Likely a cause of the rejuvenation, if I had to guess. A spell that constantly refreshes one’s body would probably refresh the mind, and in that, I think, lies the problem. The spell could eliminate anything to which the mind doesn’t have strong attachment.”
“You mean to say that the spell wipes their minds of their experiences?”
“Somewhat, yes, and that is likely the reason why she kept a journal, to have a record of her memories for when they departed.” He frowned and stared at the floor. “Can you imagine it? If she had lived to complete my training, it would have been just a matter of time before I was forgotten, remembered only in the pages of some book.”
“Some aren’t remembered at all, Lae.” She looped her arm through his. “I think it’s rather charming and thoughtful.”
“Charming and thoughtful? What in the world would make you think that?”
“She wrote those things in her journal because she wanted to remember you. Don’t you see? Your teacher didn’t have to record anything, but she did.”
“I suppose you’re right. Let’s return to the keep. In the morning, we’ll head for Morcaine, a city that I could have happily avoided for the rest of my days.”
“What’s wrong with it?”
“Nothing at all. It’s a beautiful city filled with tall buildings, markets, palaces, and churches.”
“Then, why wouldn’t you want to go there?”
“In Morcaine, I witnessed the attack on the academy, the deaths of my teacher and many of my peers, and the depths of depression to which I plunged. The only good thing I can recall is the moment when Count Millaird sent me to Westmarch to join the Knights of the Shimmering Dawn.”
“In that case, we’ll have to make a few pleasant memories there.”
She kissed him, creating a new memory right then.
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A Royal Reception
Laedron and his companions, along with Victor Altruis and Meklan Draive, rose and dressed at the dawn’s light in their finest garments. They left the safety of Westmarch by stagecoach, bound for Morcaine. Laedron knew the halfway point when he glimpsed the roadside inn where he and Ismerelda had stayed for a night. He and his party slept in the coach, while the drivers endeavored to keep the best pace with respect to the horses’ stamina.
High towers and thick walls greeted them when the coach slowed outside the gates of the capital. Everyone stretched and yawned. I almost feel relieved at seeing the city, for the mere sight of it means that I must wait less time to be reunited with my family. They passed through the gatehouse after a brief inspection, the guards seemingly unwilling to delay a coach laden with persons of such high regard.
Laedron pointed out places of interest to Valyrie along the way. “We’re entering the market now.”
“So many people,” she said, gawking through the window. “Al’Qarans?”
“Almarians, too, and Gotlanders. You won’t be able to tell the Sibelians from the Sorbians, though.”
“Why not?”
“Same people, really,” Brice said. “People have mistaken me for a Sibelian from time to time because of the way I talk.”
“It’s not that, T
himble.” Marac grinned. “They merely find you alien to the concepts of common sense and tact, traits that can be witnessed in any foreigner who possesses such qualities.”
Brice fell back in his seat, his face flushed red.
“Are you always so cruel to your companions?” Meklan asked Marac.
“No… um… I… he knows not to take such things to heart.” Marac swatted Brice’s knee. “Right? Brice?”
When Brice didn’t respond, Meklan said, “It seems that he did take it rather hard. Apologize.”
“But, Master Dra—”
“Apologize.”
“I’m sorry, Thi—Brice.” Marac glanced at Meklan, as if trying to see if his mentor had noticed his slip. “I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.”
Brice’s lips curled into a grin. “Looks like somebody got in trouble.”
Marac rolled his eyes and turned toward the window.
Laedron pointed and said, “The Wardhouse of Morcaine.”
“You have Heraldan churches here?” she asked. “I wouldn’t have thought Sorbia would allow them.”
Victor cleared his throat. “It was closed during the war, for the king was enraged by the actions of the church. He wanted it burned to the ground.”
“Someone convinced him not to?”
Victor nodded. “Yes, the engineers. If not for the risk of the fire spreading, the king would have likely set it ablaze himself.”
“Not quite what I meant. I thought most of the people here were Heraldan.”
“They are, but when the church attacked and killed so many of our people, faith became second to loyalty. The king’s own son was murdered.”
“He was a sorcerer?”
Victor nodded.
The coach stopped in front of the palace. When the driver opened the door, Laedron stepped out and peered upward at the spires ascending into the heavens. His feeling of homesickness was immediately replaced by intimidation, for no house in Sorbia exhibited such grandeur. Guardsmen with halberds stood at intervals on the steps leading to the palace, their orange and black sashes draped over steel breastplates that sparkled in the sunlight. Climbing the steps, he clutched his stomach, for it churned at the thought of being in the presence of the king. Calm yourself. He’s only a man. Then, the fear took hold again. Yes, a man who can order your death with the snap of a finger. He could tell that his friends were nervous, too, and that made him feel a little better. At least I’m not alone.
The Immortals of Myrdwyer Page 22